A Start in Life [54]
qualities, sweet-tempered as an angel, incapable of doing harm
to any one, no matter who."
Just then the cracking of a postilion's whip and the noise of a
carriage stopping before the house was heard, this arrival having
apparently put the whole street into a commotion. Clapart, who heard
the opening of many windows, looked out himself to see what was
happening.
"They have sent Oscar back to you in a post-chaise," he cried, in a
tone of satisfaction, though in truth he felt inwardly uneasy.
"Good heavens! what can have happened to him?" cried the poor mother,
trembling like a leaf shaken by the autumn wind.
Brochon here came up, followed by Oscar and Poiret.
"What has happened?" repeated the mother, addressing the stable-man.
"I don't know, but Monsieur Moreau is no longer steward of Presles,
and they say your son has caused it. His Excellency ordered that he
should be sent home to you. Here's a letter from poor Monsieur Moreau,
madame, which will tell you all. You never saw a man so changed in a
single day."
"Clapart, two glasses of wine for the postilion and for monsieur!"
cried the mother, flinging herself into a chair that she might read
the fatal letter. "Oscar," she said, staggering towards her bed, "do
you want to kill your mother? After all the cautions I gave you this
morning--"
She did not end her sentence, for she fainted from distress of mind.
When she came to herself she heard her husband saying to Oscar, as he
shook him by the arm:--
"Will you answer me?"
"Go to bed, monsieur," she said to her son. "Let him alone, Monsieur
Clapart. Don't drive him out of his senses; he is frightfully
changed."
Oscar did not hear his mother's last words; he had slipped away to bed
the instant that he got the order.
Those who remember their youth will not be surprised to learn that
after a day so filled with events and emotions, Oscar, in spite of the
enormity of his offences, slept the sleep of the just. The next day he
did not find the world so changed as he thought it; he was surprised
to be very hungry,--he who the night before had regarded himself as
unworthy to live. He had only suffered mentally. At his age mental
impressions succeed each other so rapidly that the last weakens its
predecessor, however deeply the first may have been cut in. For this
reason corporal punishment, though philanthropists are deeply opposed
to it in these days, becomes necessary in certain cases for certain
children. It is, moreover, the most natural form of retribution, for
Nature herself employs it; she uses pain to impress a lasting memory
of her precepts. If to the shame of the preceding evening, unhappily
too transient, the steward had joined some personal chastisement,
perhaps the lesson might have been complete. The discernment with
which such punishment needs to be administered is the greatest
argument against it. Nature is never mistaken; but the teacher is, and
frequently.
Madame Clapart took pains to send her husband out, so that she might
be alone with her son the next morning. She was in a state to excite
pity. Her eyes, worn with tears; her face, weary with the fatigue of a
sleepless night; her feeble voice,--in short, everything about her
proved an excess of suffering she could not have borne a second time,
and appealed to sympathy.
When Oscar entered the room she signed to him to sit down beside her,
and reminded him in a gentle but grieved voice of the benefits they
had so constantly received from the steward of Presles. She told him
that they had lived, especially for the last six years, on the
delicate charity of Monsieur Moreau; and that Monsieur Clapart's
salary, also the "demi-bourse," or scholarship, by which he (Oscar)
had obtained an education, was due to the Comte de Serizy. Most of
this would now cease. Monsieur Clapart, she said, had no claim to a
pension,--his period of
to any one, no matter who."
Just then the cracking of a postilion's whip and the noise of a
carriage stopping before the house was heard, this arrival having
apparently put the whole street into a commotion. Clapart, who heard
the opening of many windows, looked out himself to see what was
happening.
"They have sent Oscar back to you in a post-chaise," he cried, in a
tone of satisfaction, though in truth he felt inwardly uneasy.
"Good heavens! what can have happened to him?" cried the poor mother,
trembling like a leaf shaken by the autumn wind.
Brochon here came up, followed by Oscar and Poiret.
"What has happened?" repeated the mother, addressing the stable-man.
"I don't know, but Monsieur Moreau is no longer steward of Presles,
and they say your son has caused it. His Excellency ordered that he
should be sent home to you. Here's a letter from poor Monsieur Moreau,
madame, which will tell you all. You never saw a man so changed in a
single day."
"Clapart, two glasses of wine for the postilion and for monsieur!"
cried the mother, flinging herself into a chair that she might read
the fatal letter. "Oscar," she said, staggering towards her bed, "do
you want to kill your mother? After all the cautions I gave you this
morning--"
She did not end her sentence, for she fainted from distress of mind.
When she came to herself she heard her husband saying to Oscar, as he
shook him by the arm:--
"Will you answer me?"
"Go to bed, monsieur," she said to her son. "Let him alone, Monsieur
Clapart. Don't drive him out of his senses; he is frightfully
changed."
Oscar did not hear his mother's last words; he had slipped away to bed
the instant that he got the order.
Those who remember their youth will not be surprised to learn that
after a day so filled with events and emotions, Oscar, in spite of the
enormity of his offences, slept the sleep of the just. The next day he
did not find the world so changed as he thought it; he was surprised
to be very hungry,--he who the night before had regarded himself as
unworthy to live. He had only suffered mentally. At his age mental
impressions succeed each other so rapidly that the last weakens its
predecessor, however deeply the first may have been cut in. For this
reason corporal punishment, though philanthropists are deeply opposed
to it in these days, becomes necessary in certain cases for certain
children. It is, moreover, the most natural form of retribution, for
Nature herself employs it; she uses pain to impress a lasting memory
of her precepts. If to the shame of the preceding evening, unhappily
too transient, the steward had joined some personal chastisement,
perhaps the lesson might have been complete. The discernment with
which such punishment needs to be administered is the greatest
argument against it. Nature is never mistaken; but the teacher is, and
frequently.
Madame Clapart took pains to send her husband out, so that she might
be alone with her son the next morning. She was in a state to excite
pity. Her eyes, worn with tears; her face, weary with the fatigue of a
sleepless night; her feeble voice,--in short, everything about her
proved an excess of suffering she could not have borne a second time,
and appealed to sympathy.
When Oscar entered the room she signed to him to sit down beside her,
and reminded him in a gentle but grieved voice of the benefits they
had so constantly received from the steward of Presles. She told him
that they had lived, especially for the last six years, on the
delicate charity of Monsieur Moreau; and that Monsieur Clapart's
salary, also the "demi-bourse," or scholarship, by which he (Oscar)
had obtained an education, was due to the Comte de Serizy. Most of
this would now cease. Monsieur Clapart, she said, had no claim to a
pension,--his period of